***Disclaimer*** All characters and events depicted in this story are pure fiction. Any similarities between characters or places within the story and the actual world are entirely coincidental.
Notes: This is the third installment of The Whisperer series, and, as always I hope you enjoy it and welcome your feedback. Thank you!
The thick smell of pancakes and bacon wafted in my nostrils as I took another bite of the crisp slab of bacon spread out on my plate before me. Yesterday, I had implanted suggestions into my busty housewife neighbor to stop her from beating her son, and start her down the road to her eventual subjugation as punishment for her abuse of others. I savored the taste of Mom's homemade breakfast and shivered with anticipation for object of my latest chore.
My cousin Amanda was one of the most stunning and beautiful women I had ever seen, with nice DD cup tits to accompany her glorious bubble butt, shapely legs, and angelic face. Unfortunately (and possibly fortunate for me), Amanda also happened to have one of the most sadistic personas I had ever sampled. But I could never justify conquering her because of how I felt about her, or how much I wanted her. I needed undeniable proof of her failure as a human being, of her sheer inhumanity, and I intended to find such proof during my visit to her house today.
"How do you like your breakfast, Mark?" Mom asked.
I looked across the wood kitchen table at my 41 year-old mother, taking in her marvelousness of her figure. Mom had dark red hair which cascaded beautifully onto her shoulders and lively blue eyes which shone brilliantly from her the smooth skin of her face. Sometimes, when she wasn't looking, I let my eyes wander to the curve of her delicate breasts. Although Mom's boobs were sizeable, and certain to make any passing guy do a double take, they were not nearly as big as Heather's or Amanda's tits. But there was something remarkably attractive about that. It made Mom seem more real to me.
"It's delicious, Mom. Thanks! Can you pass the syrup?"
"Sure, honey." Mom picked up the syrup and leaned over the table, presenting me with view of her generous cleavage. As she continued to lean, the fabric of her tight blue blouse pressed her breasts together, causing some of her breast flesh to burst out of her low-cut neckline.
Mom set the syrup down by my plate, but continued to lean for a few more seconds, which felt like an eternity to me. Unfortunately, she retreated and sat back down in her seat, eying me with a curious smile on her cute lips. I muttered a quick thank-you and poured the syrup, embarrassed to glance up at her again. Had she caught me staring down her cleavage? If so, why was she smiling? I didn't want to speculate, so I shut those thoughts out of my head and continued eating. I had a job to do, and I couldn't afford to let my focus gravitate away from my investigation of Amanda.
We finished eating, and in return for Mom making a delicious breakfast, I cleaned the dishes and put them away. I followed Mom to her car, gazing at the slow sway of her shapely hips as she walked.
She was about to open the door to the driver's seat of her blue sedan when I interrupted, "Hey Mom, you worked all morning making me breakfast. Why don't you let me drive us to Amanda's?"
Mom looked back at me and gave me another one of those enigmatic smiles and nodded her acquiescence. She walked to the passenger side of the car and got in. I opened the car door and shut it with an audible thud.
When we arrived at Aunt Sarah's, it was still somewhat early in the morning, so I had high hopes that Amanda would still be sleeping.
"Hey!" A woman's yell broke the eerie country silence as Mom and I stepped out of the car.
I looked toward the house to see my Aunt Sarah jogging toward us with her arms raised in a welcoming gesture. I couldn't help but glance at her gigantic boobs as they bounced and jiggled with her every step.
Like Mom, Aunt Sarah also had dark red hair and clear blue eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. Unlike Mom, Aunt Sarah had a curvy, voluptuous body similar to her daughter's. In addition to their anatomical differences, Mom and Aunt Sarah were complete opposites in terms of personality. Mom was quiet and smartly introverted while Aunt Sarah was a loud philandering socialite who bullied my mother when she was young and lived entirely off her ex-husband's grotesquely expensive divorce settlement, child support, and alimony. She would probably never have to work for the rest of her life. I made a note to myself that if I was going to investigate Amanda, I might as well find out if her mother had intentionally ruined another person's life; a notion I found might not be so unlikely.
"Hey, Aunt Sarah!" I smiled as she lunged at me to give me a hug. Then I felt something strange, like a tickle or shiver traveling down my spine. I instantly felt a sense of unknown dread as a single word seared itself into my brain: "Guilty!" I retreated from Aunt Sarah's embrace, paying no notice to how her big tits felt against my chest, stumbled, and collapsed onto the pavement of her driveway.
"Mark! Are you alright?" It was Mom, kneeling beside me.
I rubbed my temples and sat up with a grumble. "It was Aunt Sarah."
Mom and Aunt Sarah exchanged looks of "he probably needs to go to a hospital", which motivated me to correct my statement.
"She hugged me so hard that my body was so overwhelmed with her affection that my heart burst, thus sending my body whirling toward the pavement."
This elicited a laugh from Aunt Sarah, and even though Mom looked very worried, the outer flesh of her lips curled upward into a slight smile, despite her monumental efforts to control herself.
They brought me inside the house and patched me up in the house's dark, marble kitchen. As for my injuries, I only suffered a couple of minor scrapes, but Mom insisted making sure every nanometer of exposed flesh was covered with Neosporin, followed routinely by a Hello Kitty Band-Aid. Aunt Sarah looked at Mom and I with a condescending sneer, which grew increasingly condescending when she noticed Mom's selection of Band-Aids from Aunt Sarah's first aid kit. "They're your Band-Aids, bitch!" I wanted to say, but thought better of it. Besides, I fully intended to find out why my brain seemed to think Aunt Sarah was guilty. And if she was, I'd make her mine.
"Where's Amanda?" I blurted out, suddenly curious.
"She's upstairs sleeping. Lord knows how late the girl was out last night." Aunt Sarah spat out, as if having to take care of a child gave her the right to be miserable. "Why don't you wake her up and see if you can get her downstairs?" She sneered, knowing full well how Amanda normally treated me. I smiled at her invitation and headed upstairs.
The entrance to Amanda's room was open, as it was when I woke her before. But had I truly woken her? It was entirely possible that Amanda, like Mrs. Heather Richardson was still asleep when she carried out my suggestions. I silently entered the room and knelt over Amanda's gorgeous sleeping form, pausing to admire her bubbly ass that stuck out over the side of the bed.
I moved so my lips closer to her ear, careful not to touch her skin for fear of a "Guilty!" verdict slamming my brain – and me, into Amanda's wooden floor.
I whispered to her. "Hello Amanda. Do you know who I am?"
"No."
"I'm your cousin, Mark."
"Hi, Mark," she mumbled, and was silent again.
That was probably the nicest thing she ever said to me.
"Hi Amanda. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them honestly. Does that sound okay?"
